One of these things is, “I’m not staying here, I’ll probably be killed” or “too dangerous” you also don’t expect to turn around to find a distressed mother trying to find the first-aid tent to treat her young son who copped a firework to the face, causing his cheeks to welt and his cries to recoil in pain.

Unless you attend a supposedly controlled and family orientated Easter fireworks display in Rockingham…

When you hear me say “ow” or “fuck” it’s because I was hit by bits of fireworks, and yes, I do believe I was entitled to the swearing, Mum. When you hear the kid in front say “ow fuck” it’s because a smouldering amber hit him in the leg. When you hear various crowd members scream, “ow fuck my eyes” as fireworks that make a ’sizzle’ sound are launched, it’s because the crowd was treated to a good old fashioned carnival eye burning. And when you hear me say “too dangerous” it’s because I finally realised how foolish it was to be that close, and promptly moved away, only to nearly be hit again by a large searing remains of a firework while standing under cover at a showbag stand.

Sorry for my Cloverfieldesque camera work, It’s hard to capture decent quality video when your eyes, skin and throat are burning. I was trying to hide under my hoodie for the duration, meanwhile, my friends decided to move away to a safe distance because they’re not big on having their flesh burnt.

After nearly being killed, we perused the rest of the carnival, I bought fairy floss and we were pleased to see the ‘hot sweet & juicy’ corn van and freaky clown games involving balls were present and accounted for…

The towns slogan should be changed to, “Rockingham, if our bogans don’t kill you our fireworks will.”

Every day I have been waiting; waiting for the nurse to return my call, waiting while driving an hour to the hospital, waiting for the doctor, waiting for a lift, waiting in line at the café around the street because the hospital has banned my beloved Coca Cola, waiting for the night to end without receiving an urgent call about her condition, waiting at a specialists, waiting for a time machine to be invented so I can go back to last year and prepare for said waiting.

My grandmothers health has been poor since late last year. A late night trip to the hospital last August revealed a long sinus pause in her heart, the doctor was slightly concerned and referred her to a cardiologist who performed various tests. One of the last tests he ordered was a holter monitor in February. After wearing the holter monitor for 24 hours she was told that the cardiologist would take a look and get back to her in a few days. She strolled down to the bus stop and decided to stop in the city to do some shopping before returning home. Just as the bus pulled up to the stop and she prepared to board, she heard someone screaming her name. It was two nurses, running in her direction and screaming her name, followed by another nurse with a wheelchair. When they finally reached her, they told her that there was a serious problem, that the cardiologist wanted to admit her so he could assess her situation. My grandmother, stubborn at heart, asked them if she could come back later, as she wanted to do some shopping. Five minutes later the nurses finally convinced her that it was urgent, then a few hours later my Gran was on a ward, hooked up the heart monitors, having her blood pressure taken hourly and still unsure what all the fuss was about.

The fuss was about a three second sinus pauses during the day and a six-ten second sinus pauses at night time. She was kept in hospital for over a week in late February. Treatment was a pacemaker, but her doctors were concerned about her high blood pressure, various clotting medications and low white blood cell count, they decided to postpone the procedure for a week and try to stabilise her blood pressure and blood count. My Gran spend her days in hospital protesting politely. She is very independent and despises anyone making a fuss. She told the doctors to just get on with and and not worry about her, as she was sure they had more important things to do, they laughed and pointed out that worrying about her was their job and she was their most critical patient in their care.

When I visited her in hospital, I first noticed that she was hooked up to monitors and looking quite sickly and tired, the first things she asked me was “who won the cricket last night?” I laughed, she told me that her motto is ‘nothing in life is more important than lotto, cricket and football’. After I found out the cricket scores from another patient, I went to find a vase for the flowers I had bought her. I found a vase near the nurses station, as I snipped off the stems the head nurses said, “your Gran really scares the night staff” in a serious tone that caught me off guard. I asked why - given that she in her late 80’s and doesn’t own a gun - he replied, “her sinus pauses at night, they’re becoming too long, they sit watching the monitor ready to page the doctor.” After that confession I no longer slept well at night either.

During another visit I stopped by her unit to gather some of her belongings. Betty, one of my Grandmothers friends, met me outside and inquired about when she was coming home. I told her I was unsure, then she asked if I would pass on well wishes to my Gran and that she missed gossiping with her. I replied, “of course, I’m sure she misses your company and can’t wait to see you again” with a smile. Betty was pleased. She bid goodbye and proceeded to walk away. Then she suddenly paused and turned around to say possibly one of the nicest compliments I’ve ever received, “you remind me of my granddaughter, she always looks me in the eye when she talks to me and has such a warmth about her. You don’t see that in a lot of young people these day. Your Grandmother is lucky to have you.”

I must say, RPH have fantastic staff. I am astounded by their professionalism and friendliness. You simply look confused in a corridor and a orderly appears - as if by teleportation - and asks you if you need some assistance. It’s sad that the government plan to close such a historical hospital.

My only gripe - a frivolous one at that - is there seems to be a ban on classic Coca Cola at the hospital. Upon consulting the nurses, I found out they score a hit of Coke from the dealers down the street and I then started buying Coke in bulk for myself and the day nurses.

My grandmother was discharged from the hospital two days after they put in the pacemaker. She then stayed with me for a week so I could keep an eye on her and while she watched the cricket. Apart from some bruising and the pacemaker needed it’s pulse/speed changed, she is feeling dramatically better. She has returned home to gossip with her friend Betty and is quite perplexed as to why she feels a tad weak when walking to the shops. Her doctor says it will take six-eight weeks for her to fully recover and for her to take it easy.

Alas, easy is not how my Gran rolls.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Well, I just had a disappointing experience with one of your chocolate products.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, which product was it?”

“The KitKat.”

“Was that a standard KitKat?”

“It was branded as such, but I soon discovered it was substandard.”

“So what was the problem with the KitKat?”

“I guess you could say it had no Kat in it.”

“No cat in it?”

“Yes, it was missing the delicious chocolatey wafer Kat centre.”

“Oh, that definitely would have made the experience less enjoyable.”

“Definitely. It was a disappointment to find the absence of the wafer inside. I mean, I would say that would be the whole point of the KitKat, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Sir. We will have a refund out to you with an apology letter as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, I trust that my experience with your confectionary in the future will be much more satisfactory.”

True to their word, Nestle sent a $5 cheque in the mail for the anguish caused by the Kit being Katless and they have yet to figure out how to spend the immense sum. Another injustice solved.

I’m unsure what one is meant to say when they receive such a prestigious and esteemed nomination.

Every year, Wired nominates the smartest, sexiest and most Wired men and women of the year. I’m up there with the sexy greats; Danica McKellar, Kary Byron, Amber MacArthur, Kary Byron (her clone), Morgan Webb, Olivia Munn, Leah Culver, Veronica Belmont, Felicia Day, Leah Culver (another clone), Kristen Bell, Alyson Hannigan and Joss Whedon. Who sadly seems to be the last man standing in the top-rated list. Whedon must possess some awesome fanboy powers or have hundreds of monkeys to do his evil biddings.

And then there is me, somewhere in the middle of it all, with 830 positive and 476 negative votes. Accompanying my photo is a short description which claims that I possess “mad CSS skillz” and that I enjoy playing WoW. Mad CSS skillz, that is such a nice thing for you to say… I mean, my code is really depreciated. I know, I’ve been wanting to release my re-design into the wild, but I’m trying to overachieve with it, do something amazing, which is a bit like trying to bend a spoon with your mind when you have no mind to bend it wit… Wait a minute.

Since when do I play WoW?

I’m pretty sure I have never played World of Warcraft, as I prefer FPS over MMORPG’s. So unless my WoW playing friends have drugged and kidnapped me for the horde or someone is posing as me on WoW (which would be a new level of weird that has yet to be achieved by my fakers/posers), I’m pretty sure I have never played WoW.

Does this mean you were lying about the “mad CSS skillz” too?

Update…

I have been cloned. There are now two of me present on Wired’s Sexiest Geeks of 2007 list. Can you pick which one is the cyborg?

So ladies, gentlemen, drunk people who are waking up from NYE induced paralysis, ninjas, and pirates; here are my 2008 predictions for your perusal…

• Imitation beer flavoured Coca Cola; no alcohol, no sugar, no fat, no point.
• An American man tries to eBay his wife’s brain. He claims she no longer uses it.
• Cookie Monster comes out of the closet and admits he really loves brownies, not cookies.
• Amy Winehouse is arrested for kidnapping a four year old boy. She maintains the boy curled up and fell asleep in her beehive hairdo, and that she was too drunk to hear the screams of terror upon his waking in the darkened beehive of doom.
• Signs used during the writers strike announce that they will be striking until demands of better hours and conditions are met. One sign says he was left on the side of the road while a writer went for Starbucks. The unnamed sign now suffers from PTS (Post Tarmatic Stress).
• An American lady tries to eBay her husbands penis. She claims he doesn’t know how to use it properly, and she would rather it be owned by a more experienced user.
• Britney Spears starts her own blog. The tag line reads, “Dis iz ma buloowwg ya’lll” and confuses readers with her intoxicated ramblings.
• Google releases a ‘Britney to English’ translator.
• Oprah starts Twittering.
• President Bush is excited when he finds Bin Laden. The joy is short lived when his advisors point out that he has found Wally, not Bin Laden.
• Twittering is finally acceptable at the dinner table because Oprah is doing it.
• Apple releases the iSuck. A vacuum cleaner that analyses your household dirt to alert you of any pathogens lurking under your feet.
• 2-girls-1-cup; the musical.
• A young man in England discovers a hidden achievement for Guitar Hero 3 on Xbox Live after his girlfriend smashes his guitar during the 759th performance of ‘Through the Fire and Flames’. He said he was shocked to see “Achievement Unlocked: Owned :p” appear on the screen.
• Humans now cooler than Ninjas and Pirates combined.
• Paris Hilton and Kevin Federline hook up. Oh… Wait, too late.

1. Dead
2. A zombie
3. Joined a cult
4. Killed by one of the people using my photos on profiles sites so they could use my skin during a date to be me in reality

It warms my heart that you all care for my well being and skin. It really does.

Don’t worry. The last time I checked I wasn’t dead, and given my undead state, I cannot possibly be a zombie. I’m also not into drinking the koolaid before flying into a volcano with Tom Cruise, and given the current state of scientific and medical advancements, there is no way the skin trick could work.

The main reason I haven’t blogged is because my website was moved to a different server, which resulted in some downtime and instability. It’s all fixed now thanks to the glorious people at Contrast Hosting.

The other reason, which many of you can associate with at this time of year, is that I have been busy. Busy buying meaningful presents on a limited budget, catching up with friends, wrapping my families presents because they’re too inept to do so themselves, seeing friends off at the airport, sorting and replying to over 600 emails residing in my inbox, stopping Bruce from trying to commit suicide again, dealing with family members who decide to get back together instead of divorcing, eBaying my possessions for money to pay bills, convincing the boyfriend not to buy another car because he has a perfectly good car, sorting out my study plans for next year, trying to stop everyone from feeding the dog fries when they know that I have her on a diet, learning to drive, re-designing this blog, trying to find the perfect cuban heel seamed stocking that matches my skin tone, playing xbox on my shiny new LCD TV that the boyfriend gave me for christmas, and trying to reset my sleeping pattern which has slowly dilapidated after illness and stress.

Updates will recommence shortly. Until then, follow me on Twitter for daily updates.

This time, it’s a dating advert on Craigslist, entitled “Beautiful Girl Needs Someone!”

At least this time I’m not into group relationships or grannies. This time, I desire quiet evenings in front of the fire cuddling and watching a movie, I lust after someone who will go on a bike with me and allow me to cook a real meal for them. I’m not sure what I mean by ‘real meal’, possibly I was into imagining food at some point, and have since moved onto real food.

“I enjoy having a good time am told that I am a lot of fun to be with. I like to be spontaneous and spur of the moment is ok with me. I like to do crazy funny things.. Yet, I also like quiet evenings in front of the fire cuddling and watching a movie. Would like to meet someone of same interests, Someone to go on the bike with, someone to cook a real meal for, someone to just spend time with and hang out and talk with.”

I’m sure the flock peeps will love the free publicity. Myself, on the other hand, hope that I don’t have to post an entry entitled ‘wrongfully engaged’ after a reader emails me about my photos being used on a Russian mail order bride website.

Thanks goes out to a secret ninja, who prefers to remain stealthy unknown, that emailed me about the Craigslist advert. I shall sleep sound at night knowing there are ninjas in the world protecting the internets.

That is what a profile on gaydargirls.com says. It was brought to my attention by a reader who recognised the photos as mine and sent me an email regarding the profile. I have emailed gaydargirls.com asking for the profile to be removed. I’m not sure what aggravates me the most; the fact someone stole my photos or that they said I’m 5'6" and seeking a 99 year old woman.

The rest of the biography on the profile is literary genius…

“Like so many others i have been caught out after i have given my address to someone on here! So i expect some bloke to turn up at some point, scary stuff! makes a change to take a knife with me to bed instead of a woman! Whats the point in describing yourself when you have a pic?? What i like is a different story, women mainly, surprise surprise! seriously im a normal sort of girly, very fem, whjo like to drink hard, play hard and live life to the full, after all, we only get one shot at it.”

It never ceases to amaze me how the people that are the least honest always play the honesty card.

There is a party called ‘What Women Want’ in this years election.

First thing that came to mind was Mel Gibson waxing his legs while drunk in the aptly named movie. Then I started to ponder their policies…

• Free tampons.
• Laws against partners coming home later than 1am after drinks with the boys.
• Chocolate and red wine added to the PBS.
• Tax free shoes.
• Low interest home loans for any guy that builds a girl a house like in The Notebook.
• Paid toil days for that time of the month.
• Emergency manicure and pedicure treatments on Medicare.
• Support line for women who think they are fat/ugly/alone/lacking chocolate/etc, that is operated by caring gay men that have obtained Cert III in Gay Caring For Premenstrual Women from TAFE.

And yes, I am aware that by making these jokes about women - and their wants - I’m setting us back ten years, but they started it by naming their party ‘What Women Want.’

As always, first party to buy me an LCD HDTV will win my vote.

It would have been increasingly funny if they handed over an iPhone and said zombie was a Apple fanboy that tried to make a booty call to zombie Steve Jobs, but hey, that’s just my thoughts on how the plot could have incorporated another item I love.

The plot wasn’t without flaws - as with most zombie movies, flaws are more rampant than the zombies themselves - at one point the boyfriend leaned over and pointed out a major flaw during the movie…

“Who do you think has the job of dressing the zombies in little uniforms and putting on their gloves?”

Good question.

I have been contemplating this. I do believe that if zombies were to walk the earth and infect the population, thus turning the living into a walking army of moaning cannibals, should the small amount of humans that do survive require a zombie stylist, the job of dressing captured zombies should totally go to the guy who lives nearby and does burnouts at 4am in his car. He so deserves the distinguished job title.

Alas, others will also have to be nominated for the job. Due to accidental zombification, the turnover in the position will be swift. If you would like to nominate someone that you believe deserves to be in charge of dressing rotting naked zombies in uniforms, please do so in the comments so we can generate a rough list. And then, if we all get attacked by zombies, the plans will already have been laid out, and we can spend more time finding unmarked cans of peas and making cool looking belted costumes to hold our weapons.